"Why hesitate, dear father, to make your own choice without regard to a chance expression of mine? I really have no preference contrary to yours." "There is no such thing as chance. We will go this morning, my darling," said Armstrong, with decision. "I have observed, there are some persons controlled by a heavenly influence, which prevents their erring. I have felt it sometimes, and, I think I feel it now. You were always right from infancy. The influence upon us both is the same, and, I am convinced, we should follow it." Accordingly, shortly after breakfast, Faith and her father entered the coach, which was driven by Felix. The route they passed over was the same taken by the Judge and Armstrong, and we are, therefore, relieved from the necessity of a description. Besides, we are now too much interested in Armstrong, to allow us to pay much attention to the beauties of external nature. Of such infinite worth is a human being; so incalculably grand and precious those faculties and powers which connect him with his magnificent source; so fraught with mystery the discipline he endures, a mystery in which each one endowed with the same nature, has part, that the natural and the visible shrink into insignificance in comparison with the unseen and spiritual. Of what consequence is a world of insensate matter, when brought into competition with the immortal spirit? Vain would be the attempt to describe the tumult of feelings that, like billows of fire, dashed through the soul of the unfortunate man. Sitting, as he supposed, for the last time, by the side of one dearer than life, his eyes no longer dwelt upon Faith, with that expression of calm and boundless love, whence she had been accustomed to drink in so much happiness. Yet, was the love all there, but it was a troubled love, a love full of anguish. What sweetness! what confidence in him he read in her face! It was like the placid surface of a mountain lake, in which the skies delight to mirror themselves--no emotion hidden, no thought concealed--and, for all this innocent confidence, what was his return? He was entertaining, in his mind, a dreadful purpose; carefully concealing it so that it should be beyond the power of suspicion, and inveigling her into a snare, which, upon being discovered, must fill her young heart with an agony worse than death. But no thought of swerving from his purpose crossed now the mind of Armstrong. Considerations like these had long been reflected upon, and in connection with others, been able, indeed, to retard the execution of his design, but not, as it seemed, to defeat it. Whatever weight they might have had, they were obliged to yield to more powerful antagonists. He was no longer a free agent. A force, as with the grip of a vice, held him fast. A scourge, whose every lash drew blood, as it were, from his heart, drove him on. Beautiful, magnificent, the harmonious and healthy play of the human faculties; horrid, beyond